


All My Christmas Wishes Involve You

by cherielynn503



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Complete, First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherielynn503/pseuds/cherielynn503
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock spend their first Christmas together at 221b.   Will exchanging gifts bring out their true feelings for each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     “John!” Sherlock shouted as he bounded up the stairs into the sitting room off 221B.  “I’ve been given this gift, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it,” he said scowling and turning a wrapped box over and over in his hands. 

     John sat in his armchair and turned to face his flat mate.  “Well, open it, Sherlock,” John said amused. 

     “I know what to do with it, but I just don’t know what to do _about_ it,” he continued, the exasperation in his voice causing it to rise in pitch.  John thought he might be headed into a right strop unless he could head it off at the pass. 

     “What’s in it and who’s it from, anyway?”  John asked nodding at the box.         

     “It’s from Molly Hooper, and it’s this,” Sherlock said handing over a white cube of paper.  “What’s it for?” Sherlock looked genuinely perplexed at the object.

    “It’s a block of post it notes with Far Side cartoons printed on them.  There’s still space here for you to write something.  You can use them to jot little notes to yourself and stick them on things.  And, they’re all Gary Larson’s science jokes.  See?  Molly knows you like science and experimenting and she got you this so you’d have a laugh each time you used one.”

  Sherlock rolled his eyes as he pulled off the top post-it and looked over the cartoon on the first page.  It showed a man in a lab coat carefully putting rivets into a large bomb and another man standing directly behind him holding an inflated paper bag he looked ready to pop.  John laughed at the thing and glanced up to see Sherlock simply staring at it with confusion on his brow.

    “How droll.  But, I didn’t get her anything. She handed it to me today as I was leaving the morgue.  I just took it and said, ‘Well, I didn’t get you anything.’ And left.”

     John could picture the strained scenario all too well.  Molly had an obvious crush on Sherlock and stammered every time they shared the same space with the man.  Sherlock usually made the whole thing worse by his inability to gauge human feelings.

     “And,” Sherlock continued looking down at the wooden floorboards of sitting room.  Lestrade gave me this all wrapped up in a box with a bow,” he pulled a blue scarf from his coat pocket and held it up for John to see.  “He said it was to replace the one that got caught in the printing press when we were on that case involving the journalist, remember?”

     John nodded and chuckled.  “The damn thing almost strangled you before we could cut it off.  What were you thinking examining that machine while it was running?”

     “Yes, but why are people giving me gifts?”

     “It’s Christmas tomorrow, Sherlock.  It’s what people do around this time of year.”

     “Well, they’ve never given me gifts before.  Why should they start now?” he put both objects in John’s hands.  “What should I do?”

     “These are nice, thoughtful gifts, Sherlock.  I think they are just showing you that they’re thinking of you around this time of year.  Perhaps they want to show their gratitude.  Don’t sweat it so much.  You’ve been very busy with cases and  haven’t had time to go shopping…”

     “Shopping?” Sherlock asked horrified.  “I don’t shop, John.  I mean not intentionally unless it’s for a case.”

     John knew that too well as they would both starve if he didn’t go to the market and get food on a regular basis.  He’d often wondered how Sherlock ever got new clothes as he’d never seen the man go into a shop.  However, one of Mycroft’s lackeys showed up one day with several garment bags containing a wide variety of custom made suit jackets, trousers and shirts.  Sherlock simply accepted them and spirited them away into his room to join the other expensive, tailor made clothes in his closet. 

     “If you don’t have any gifts,” John said standing up and heading to the kitchen to put on the kettle for a cup of tea. “Then, do what I did when I was a kid.  I made coupon books to give to my family and friends.”

   “Oh you mean like good for one free backrub?” Sherlock asked arching one eyebrow.  “Really John, I don’t think anyone would want that from me.”

     The idea of Sherlock giving him a backrub derailed his thoughts for a moment. He busied himself filling the kettle but couldn’t get the image of Sherlock’s long-fingered hands gently massaging his shoulders, neck, along his sides…sliding down to knead his buttocks.  Not that he’d ever expect his “I’m married to my work” flat mate to ever offer to do that.

     “No,” he stammered a bit.  “I meant like doing a nice favor for someone without expecting anything in return. I’m sure you could think of a way to offer your special talents to someone who might need them in the future.  Or, in your case, you can refrain from calling a person an idiot for a period of twenty-four hours no matter how badly they screw something up,” John said with a grin.  “I bet that one would be worth its weight in gold, eh?”

     “John, how much could a paper coupon weigh?”

     “Well, I’m sure they don’t expect you to give them gifts.  I think they just want you to know you’re in their thoughts,” John said picking up Sherlock’s paper cube from the table.  “I’m putting this right next to your laptop on the table.  You can leave me messages when you need to.”

     “I’d prefer to text,” Sherlock replied but took the cube from John’s hand and placed it on the fireplace mantel next to the skull.  He then hung the new scarf up on a hook near the door.  John thought he saw a small, smug look of satisfaction on his face as he did it.  He busied himself with some equipment on the table and John went back to his chair and paper.

     “You know,” John said after a few minutes had passed.  “I got you a Christmas gift.”

     Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock’s head pop up.  “Did you?” he asked narrowing his blue-grey eyes.  “What is it?”

     “I’ve hidden it somewhere you’d never think to look and you’ll get it tomor…”

     “It’s in the vegetable crisper in the fridge,” Sherlock said looking back down at his equipment. 

     “How did you?  Oh, of course you figured it out.  Did you peek?”

     “No.  I just deduced it.  It’s where you put things when you don’t want me to find them.  You think I never eat vegetables so I’d never look in a drawer especially meant to house vegetables.”

     “Right, don’t peek,” John huffed out.  “I mean it, Sherlock.”  This was their first Christmas together as flat mates and John felt it was a bit of a milestone in their partnership.  John had put some thought into his gift.  He often found himself wishing he could tell Sherlock about his growing feelings towards him.  With each case they solved, John found himself admiring Sherlock more and more.  He wasn’t sure what to call it, but his attraction for Sherlock often hit him at the most unexpected times.  They might be running down a dark alleyway chasing after a criminal, or pawing through someone’s trash and John would look up at Sherlock and want to stop him and tell him how much he meant to him.  Sometimes he wanted to cup the man’s face in his hands and kiss him fully on the lips.  Those moments had taken him quite by surprise as he normally had those kinds of thoughts for the women he dated.  So, he buried his fantasies deep and kept himself ready and available to help Sherlock with whatever he needed.  He was content with that for now.

     “Hmmm,” Sherlock said.  “I won’t.  As long as you don’t try to find yours.”

     John looked up at that.  “You got me something?”  John asked and smiled.  “Really?”

     “Yes,” Sherlock said and began humming a Vivaldi tune under his breath.  “If I have to wait until tomorrow, then so do you.” 

     For the first time in years, John was excited to open gifts on Christmas morning.


	2. Chapter 2

     John felt himself being pushed awake the next morning.  “John,” a low voice said urgently.  “Wake up.  Lestrade needs us at a crime scene.”

     “Wha?  I’m awake,” he said sitting up and rubbing his eyes.  “Now?  It’s…” he looked at the clock by his bed.  “It’s only two-thirty.  God, I shouldn’t have had that extra whisky last night.”  His head throbbed and his stomach felt queasy.  He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars and breathed out heavily.  He had to clear his head a moment because for the second or two before Sherlock had shaken him awake, he’d been dreaming about his flat mate.  In his dream, Sherlock had been keenly studying him as if he were one of his specimens, only it didn’t bother John at all to be so closely observed.  He liked having Sherlock’s undivided attention.  But, Sherlock had wanted to know something. He’d had John pinned down, unable to move, but hadn’t been restrained in any way.  Sherlock’s intense silver eyes held him firmly in place… He’d wanted to know…

     Sherlock however showed no signs of sleepiness.  In fact, he was already dressed in his dark suit, coat thrown over his arm.  He had the closet doors open and was pulling out items.  Apparently Sherlock knew the contents of his wardrobe just as well as he did.  Small wonder, John thought, he missed nothing.  “Just pull a jumper on over that t-shirt and here’s some jeans…” he stopped in mid- sentence looking directly at John’s lap.  John followed his gaze but knew he’d find that he sported a rather large erection poking through his underpants.  His dream about Sherlock had had a powerful physical effect on him it seemed.

     “All right, Sherlock.  Give me a minute to change and I’ll be along,” he said blushing deeply and shooing the lanky detective out of his room. 

     “Hurry up John!  Every second we waste gives Lestrade’s team a chance to trample all over the clues.”

    “Ga!” John said in the frustration of trying to remember what Sherlock had wanted from him in the dream. It seemed important to figure out.  He stood and pulled on his warmest jumper.  He could see fat snowflakes beginning to fall outside.  Great, John thought, Merry Christmas.

   

     The case had only taken Sherlock an hour to solve, but it had been John’s insight that helped him put the final piece in the puzzle.  They returned back to Baker Street cold, hungry and satisfied with their individual efforts.  The snow had continued falling until now there were several inches covering London.

      John didn’t know if Sherlock actually needed his input to solve his cases, but he found he loved the work almost as much as he loved helping patients get better.  If it hadn’t been for Sherlock including him on that first case, he’d still be living his very dreary life after the war.  He owed him so much.  He peeled himself out of his wet jumper and laid it over the back of his armchair.  “Let’s have a fire and open presents,” John called to Sherlock who’d gone into his room.  He heard a muffled reply and grinned.

     John set about starting a fire and making tea.  With the snow, it felt very much like a holiday.  He popped in toast and opened a package of orange glazed pastries he’d purchased the day before.  He was surprised Sherlock hadn’t already found and consumed them as they were his favorite.  Perhaps he knew John had been saving them for Christmas morning. 

     He smiled as he thought about Sherlock’s gift sitting in the crisper.  He’d managed to acquire a genuine, Victorian finger printing kit made by the T. Hawksley company on Oxford Street circa 1892.  He’d seen it in an antique shop gathering dust in a corner.  He’d never have known what it was had he not been working with Sherlock this past year.  It had been in a shocking state of neglect and disrepair so the proprietor had sold it to him at a discount.  John had carefully cleaned, oiled and polished the oak casing until it shone.  He’d replaced the rusted hinges with replica pieces and even found authentic brushes, oils, powders and inks to fill up the antique bottles and tubes inside.  It was now functional and almost as good as new.  He hoped Sherlock would like it.

     He set two mugs of tea on the table and got the plain wrapped package out of the crisper.  He hadn’t bothered with frilly wrapping paper or bows and set it next to the pastries. 

    A moment later, Sherlock emerged from his bedroom holding something behind his back and smiling at John.    


	3. Chapter 3

     “How shall we do this?” Sherlock asked.  If John didn’t know better, he’d think Sherlock was actually anxious. 

     “How about eat first, then open?” John suggested. 

     Sherlock nodded once and said, “Close your eyes and I’ll put this under the table. It’s not wrapped.”

     John closed his eyes and heard some rustling and the sound of something being placed on the floor.  What the hell could it be? he wondered.  Then, knowing Sherlock, he thought it might either be something very functional or wildly inappropriate for a Christmas gift.  “Okay?”

     “Okay, you can open your eyes,” Sherlock said.  John thought his voice lower and rougher than usual. 

     “Tuck in, they’re your favorite,” John said picking up the toast and spreading butter and jam on it.  They spent a few moments sipping tea and eating.  Sherlock had two pastries, an unprecedented breakfast, and even licked the orange glaze from his fingertips.  John couldn’t help watching the last part a little longer than he should have.    He almost wondered if Sherlock had been teasing him a little by licking each long, slender finger and making eye contact with him as he did. 

   “You like those, eh?” John asked trying to cover the blush he could feel rising on his face. 

     “Delicious,” Sherlock said.  “But, if you’re finished…” He nodded to John’s crumb covered plate.  Sherlock grabbed the plates and mug and put the dishes in the sink.  While he was there, he washed and dried his sticky hands.  He brought over a dishtowel and wiped the kitchen table clean.  Sherlock never cleaned anything or picked up after himself.  Those simple actions spoke volumes about how excited he was to get to the gift exchange.  With the level of excitement Sherlock had for this, he only hoped his own gift measured up. 

     “You first,” John said and pushed the brown parcel over to Sherlock’s side of the table. 

     He picked up the package first without opening it, weighing it in his hand.  His brow furrowed a bit.   It delighted John that his “detective” flat mate couldn’t deduce the contents of this present.  Sherlock seemed to intuit not to shake it and placed it back down on the table.  He looked back at John who was now watching him intently, waiting for him to open it.  Sherlock picked apart the tape at one end and gently slid his finger under to pull one flap open.    He slid the wooden box out in one swift motion and looked at it, still trying to deduce the contents. 

    The outside held no telltale manufacture markings and Sherlock ran his hands over its smooth surface and breathed in the scent of it.  He took in the fresh polish, and the new hinges.  “You’ve restored this, John.” He said the appreciation in his voice apparent.  “I’d say 1890’s, British manufacture…”

      “You could just open it,” John said.

     “You’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble with this.  It’s very fine workmanship, solid oak frame and you’ve chosen brass fittings that match the time period.  And, you’ve installed a locking latch.”

     “The key is inside,” John said.  He had replaced the catch with a lock and small skeleton key combo he’d found at a locksmith shop in Soho.  He thought it fitting somehow that the box should lock. 

     Finally, Sherlock could hold out no longer.  He lifted the lid and stared down at the contents inside.  “John,” he breathed his eyes widening in surprise.  “This is… I’m speechless.”

      “Huh,” John said.  “That is a first, Sherlock.”  But he thrilled inside at his friend’s reaction.  He’d so hoped to have gotten it right. 

     “John, this is just like the one on display in the South Cloisters of University College. This has got to be worth a small fortune.  I’ve seen it in the Sir Francis Galton exhibit and you have no idea how close I’ve come to using my lock picking skills to…  Well, let’s put it this way, now I don’t have to covet that particular item ever again.  This is really exceptional.”

     Sherlock reverently picked up each item from the kit in his hands.  He began with the small wooden paddle with the attached ink roller and looked at it with interest.  John had found and fitted a new one on but had kept the original and placed it in a small plastic bag inside.  Knowing Sherlock, he’d want to test out the old ink or something.  The glass bottles still had their original labels.  John had done some research to find the same type of inks and oils they would have used during the time period.  He’d even found new cotton batting. .   He’d included a list of every ingredient as he was sure Sherlock would want to know. The kit still had several sheets of authentic, cut stationary for pressing the fingerprints into.  And, John had been delighted to discover, there was a fingerprint sample done on one of the old sheets of paper with a hundred-year-old print still on it.  Sherlock picked it up, eyes wide with wonder, and smiled brightly at him

    He finally put everything back in the kit and closed the lid with a last longing look.  “John, I don’t know if I can ever find a gift that would match this one,” he said with head bowed.  “I don’t think mine is going to do this one justice.”

    The last thing John wanted this morning was to make Sherlock feel bad with his gift so without thinking, he reached out and took one of his hands and squeezed.  “I’m very glad you like it.  I did it because you’ve given me my life back after I came home from the war.  You are so much more than just a flat mate, you’re my friend, partner in crime fighting and …” he had to stop before he let something else spill out.  _You’re all I think about now_ , he wanted to say.  So, he just squeezed Sherlock’s hand again and said, “What’s under the table?”

    “Ah,” Sherlock said letting go of John’s hand and reaching down to bring up a medium sized basket.  “It’s just this.”  He seemed embarrassed by it and wouldn’t look John in the eye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a pic of Sherlock's finger printing kit.  
> http://www.victorianweb.org/victorian/history/crime/2.html


	4. Chapter 4

     Sherlock set a brown, wicker basket on the table.  In it, hidden among some wadded up excelsior, lie a number of small objects like eggs in a nest.  John’s eyebrows shot up at the first thing to catch his eye.  “Is this…Is this an kitchen timer?”  He picked up the little oval shaped timer in the plastic package.  He’d seen it in a shop window while walking back from NSY one day.  The timer on their stove hadn’t worked properly since he’d moved in and he’d wanted an egg timer.  Here it was.  The very timer he’d briefly glanced at.  “Cheers,” he said smiling as he popped open the package and held the little thing in his hand. 

    Then, his eye drew back to the other objects in the basket.  He found his favorite brand of biscuits, the expensive kind he could only seem to find at one gourmet shop in London, and several other small considerate personal items.  There were at least two dozen little gifts in the basket.  As he considered the amount of time it would have taken Sherlock to track down each object at all the different shops, John realized how much effort had gone into this gift.  He picked out one item in particular, a brand of brio that he loved to use at work and swore by,  that almost made his eyes water.  He’d never even mentioned he liked that particular type of pen, but somehow, Sherlock knew he did. This was a level of attention that suddenly brought back his dream from the night before.  Sherlock would have had to study him closely to have gathered this lot.  That and the fact that it must have taken Sherlock months to put this together, suddenly made John giddy and touched him deeply. 

     “You shopped,” he said wonderingly.  The fact that Sherlock entered not one, but many shops to acquire these items was not lost on John.  “Thank you for these,” he said.  “You seem to know…everything about me,” he shook his head.  That thought sank in for a moment.  _Everything_.

     “There’s a special one underneath,” Sherlock said watching John’s reaction carefully.  “Dig a little.”

    John dug around in the curling, wooden shavings, leave it to Sherlock to use excelsior as packing material, and encountered something made of metal and rubber tubing.  He pulled it out and held it up to the light.  It was a stethoscope.  But, John noticed it was an older design, one typically used in the early 1970’s.  It had a bell-shaped chest piece rather than the circular design used today.  The caramel colored tubing reminded him of the one his grandfather used to use in his pediatric practice.  In fact, he could remember playing with it as a boy and using it to listen to his grandfather’s heart when he would allow.  Going to his grandfather’s private practice in Edinburgh had played a huge part in his decision to become a doctor himself.  He’d often wondered what had become of that stethoscope…Wait, it couldn’t be.

     “Look along the inside of the metal ear tube.  There’s a name there,”

     “Dr. Earl Watson,” John read aloud.  Sherlock, the bloody beautiful bastard had found his grandfather’s stethoscope.  He’d asked his grandmother for it after his grandfather had passed away, but she’d never been able to find it among his things.  The family had believed it lost, and John had always wished it would turn up somehow. 

     He got up from the table and went around to stand next to his friend.  Sherlock seemed not to be able to move and sat frozen, stiff-backed.  John hugged him.  He didn’t care if Sherlock might be taken aback by this sudden affection, he just wrapped his arms around his long neck, laid his own head on his shoulder and hugged him as hard as he could. 

    He kept his fierce hug up until he felt Sherlock’s muscles loosen.  Sherlock stood from his chair and his long arms reached out to hug John back.  Yes, there it was, the perfect Christmas gift, John thought warmly.  Stuff was ultimately just stuff, but this embrace was by far the best present he could have hoped for. 

     “Where did you find it?” he asked into the nape of Sherlock’s neck. 

     Sherlock pulled back a little but kept his arms locked around John not willing to let him go.  “I..I had to go to Edinburgh a few months ago for a case.  I stopped into to visit your mother.”

     “You visited my mum?” John asked incredulously.  “Really?”

     “I didn’t tell you because I had ulterior motives. She and I had quite a chat about a young lad who wanted to be a doctor like his grandfather.  I deduced your feelings about the stethoscope from a picture she showed me and together we found the missing item in her attic.  She’s almost as good as you are at helping me solve a good mystery, Sherlock said with a grin. Now I know where you get it from.”

     “You do seem to know me very well,” John said dangerously close to spilling a tear or two.  He kept seeing the Sherlock in his dream who wanted to tell him something.

     “I remember everything about you, John.  There isn’t a thing you want that I don’t know about.”

     “You’re sure you know everything I want, Sherlock?” John asked him very much aware they still had arms locked around each other.

     “Yes,” Sherlock said and kissed him. 

     As John melted into the kiss he’d been craving for so long, he thought that this was the only other gift he could have asked for today.  Fortunately, he could give one just like it right back. 


End file.
